


Houses of the Snakes

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: testimōnium tuum est essentiālis (your testimony is essential) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e10 The Devil in the Details, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stands on the street. There is the pavement, hard. Slightly wet with rain. The sky. He tips the head up, closes the eyes – opens the eyes. The sky is a kaleidoscope, turning. Breaking. He sees up into the Milky Way. Laughs, cries, cries with laughter. The Heavens; if they knew! They'd weep. Or cheer. He doesn't care. Oh, and how freeing! How freeing this is. He is free. The air around him burns with electricity. So tempting. So much promise. He shifts on the feet – the heart in this body. So – heavy? Why?</p><p>Why, Castiel – aren't you rejoicing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Houses of the Snakes

 

 

 

_under gold that bled the sky_

 

 

 

He stands on the street. There is the pavement, hard. Slightly wet with rain. The sky. He tips the head up, closes the eyes – opens the _eyes_. The sky is a kaleidoscope, turning. Breaking. He sees up into the Milky Way. Laughs, cries, cries with laughter. The Heavens; if they knew! They'd weep. Or cheer. He doesn't care. Oh, and how freeing! How freeing this is. He is _free_. The air around him burns with electricity. So tempting. So much promise. He shifts on the feet – the heart in this body. So – heavy? Why?

_Why, Castiel – aren't you rejoicing?_

He smirks, slow. Delicious. _Not alone anymore_ , he teases _._

No answer. Right, disoriented. Or. Shy? It makes him laugh again.

He walks. It's light; so _easy_. Still the heart is heavy.

 _I could turn it to stone_. He offers. Castiel – his soul, his grace? Strange, he is not sure what it is – shrinks away from him, curls tighter into himself. Shrouds himself in thorny stubborn silence. He shakes his head at his wayward brother – pity, such a pity. He walks. The heart is heavy still.

>

The _irony_ of it. Just a while ago – years, but years mean nothing to him. They had this conversation. Granted, much more uncomfortable scenario. He'd been in a crumbling vessel, Castiel trapped in ring of holy fire.

(“I'm told you came here in an automobile?”)

And now he's driving it. The irony aside, it's. Somewhat boring. He decidedly dislikes being crammed into a tiny box again – but yes, yes. Cover. The box might be slow – confiding; you were right brother – but it has _music_. He skips through the stations without once touching the buttons, cranks up the volume. It's so tempting to sway the box from side to side with the beat. But humans are dumb and slow and have dumb little rules about the slow-moving mud they call traffic. And he is _Castiel_ now, and Castiel – the _peculiar_ thing – likes humans, and is nice to them. Maybe it could be sort of adorable, but it's. Sickening. He sighs. Well, he can try and laugh about it. Really, it's a _road trip_. Road trips are supposed to be fun. He is determined to have fun. Something like disbelief bleeds through the defenses Castiel has set around himself – _laughable_ defenses, but hey, gold star for trying. Because there's nothing better to do, and he is curious, he takes a look. There is feeble determined _pathetic_ resistance, and then a memory of Castiel talking to Dean on the phone.

(“I'm fine Cas. How 'bout you?”

“I miss my wings. Life on the road... smells.”

“Hmm.”)

He rolls the eyes as the memory plays out. Couldn't it have been something more. Entertaining? Castiel fights against him watching, and he withdraws out of sheer boredom. The radio is a much better companion. He searches out the power ballads, drums the fingers on the wheel. This box is so empty. He needs company. But yes, that's right. That's where he's headed.

Oh, the _fun_ he will have.

>

He explodes one of his brothers.

It's the _best_ stress management therapy he has had in – ah, but what is time? The smirk stretches the face he's wearing. Castiel cringes away from him in pain and guilt. He does a little dance.

Then, when he resumes driving, the sun sets golden ahead of him. The sky is not in lament – it is _perfection_. Yes, ahhh, yes. He has missed this beautiful thing.

He finds a song with a voice sounding almost like Elvis. Sings along, about the _big blue spanish sky_. _I've got the time to wonder why she left me_. Mocking, yearning. Killing the time.

>

Sam, when he sees him – _smiles_. Looks a little concerned, but overall. Happy. To see him. Oh, this is – there aren't words.

They have papers and silly old books spread over a table. It's cute, really, he's gotta hand it to them. And there's so much faith in their eyes when they look at him – he expected quite a lot of things, he has a very creative imagination. But this? If he didn't know where he was – underground bunker; real kinky if kind of sociopathic– he'd think he took a wrong turn and landed in a sit-com. Possible, if Gabriel were still alive. Though even then he'd know. He taught him all his tricks.

But this, the familiarity and trust that greets him? A walk in wonderland. And without feet of tin. All he's gotta do is play the cowardly lion.

Sam is talking about something – blah, blah, blah; he schools the body's expression into something solemn and attentive and doesn't really listen.

He's sifted through Castiel's memories a bit here and there. Took what he needed. Some stuff is puzzling. A few things amusing. Other things are vaguely germ-y – purgatory, the _filth_. And oh, yes. He turns the head a bit, looks at Dean. He will have to remember to do that a lot.

Dean has been leaning over the table. Frowning at the books there, or maybe the dust on them. It's surprisingly clean in this bunker.

Dean has shadows under his eyes. He looks exhausted and his eyes are kind of glassy.

“How are you, Dean?”

Whoops, he might have just interrupted Sam talking. Sam just falls silent though, so maybe it wasn't too out of character. It's a bit conflicting, because he misses Sam's anger. Oh, it _is_ still there. Buried. He is a mere beast like every one of _them_ is on this Earth. But this anger? This _rage_? He can relate. It felt like an embrace when he had it so close. Like a caress. He almost licks his lips at the thought of it so close again, now.

Ye of little faith – there is still a chance he can have it back.

Dean looks up immediately when he addresses him – at least he's well trained, if nothing else. There is a surprising amount of vulnerability in Dean's eyes. _Interesting_.

Dean shifts his stance, straightens a bit. His shoulders remain slumped, rounded. Soft. Tired but trusting. How Sam has been betting on someone so obviously weak is beyond him. A hallow? A spear? _This_ man?

“I'm fine, Cas.” A liar, too. “How 'bout you?”

The heart he has been ignoring the last hours – the heart that has been getting quieter, quieter – wants to speed up at that. Warm this body through. It's so heavy with – ah yes, guilt. He pauses. And. Yearning? Oh, _Castiel_.

“I'm okay, Dean.” Impossibly, the feelings deepen when he says the name again. And Dean doesn't look away. Frowns, apparently in concern.

“You sure? You kinda had a rough go at it lately.”

He inclines the head a bit. Arranges the features into something contrite. “Yes, well. I will uh...” He makes a brief pause, to underline the awkwardness of using a colloquial phrase, “ _muddle through_.”

He keeps his gaze on Dean. One corner of Dean's mouth ticks up slightly in an almost smile, though he still doesn't look convinced. But he doesn't question again. Sam doesn't either. Lying – even badly – must be fairly normal here. A lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood? A heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil? Oh _father._ Your house is in _ruin_.

Castiel stays quiet. Heavy, yes, heavy – but that means nothing to him. He is _light_.

He is home.

He leans back and _enjoys_.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
